The stench arrived even before the tolling of the bells. An acrid smell of pus, sweat, and despair saturated the air, hanging over the poorest neighborhoods of Nova Lusitania like a tangible curse. Smallpox. Dom Mateus Orsini pressed a linen handkerchief soaked in vinegar against his nose—a strange habit he had learned from Italian doctors—while his fine leather boots carefully avoided the stagnant puddles soaking the cobblestone streets. He was not there by chance.

  The Pontifical Legate had a clear mission: to discover why, among all the Holy Cities of the New World, only Nova Lusitania continued to be ravaged by the plague. The answers he had gotten from Pope Henry's servants so far had been evasive, a rehearsed chorus of "God's designs" and "tests of faith.".

  Upon entering Pope Henry's office, Dom Mateus felt the immediate contrast. The air inside was heavy, smelling of beeswax and authority. Henry had his back turned, watching the fatal smokes rising from the newly opened burial grounds through the window.

  "Pope Henry," Mateus began, his voice restrained yet firm, "I've noticed the plague still ravages this city. And this despite Popess Paula having already discovered how to prevent it."

  Henry didn't turn, but his shoulders tensed.

  "The plague is a punishment, Dom Orsini," he replied, his voice grave and laden with disdain. "A purifying fire for the lust and laziness of these people."

  "It is curious," Mateus's voice slid smooth as a blade. "In Santa Marta, there is no plague. In Alba, there isn't either. In all the holy cities that received and applied Popess Paula's instructions, the disease has been tamed. Only here, Your Eminence, does the purifying fire seem to choose its victims with... an almost divine selectivity."

  Henry finally turned. His face, once impassive, was now a mask of contained fury.

  "Instructions? What could that 'man' know that the court physicians do not? His 'instructions' are nothing but heresy, pagan invocations disguised as piety!"

  "Heresy that saves lives?" Mateus tilted his head, his eyes fixed on the Pope. "The Church has already attested to the miracle performed by the Popess. And she is a woman, yes, and now also a saint. But let's set that aside... I find it interesting that her letters about the vaccine reached all the other cities, who forwarded them to The Celestial City. Yours, however, never arrived there. And I didn't need to investigate much to discover that the letter destined for you was burned on your orders. Why?"

  The silence that followed was more eloquent than any scream. Henry's mask cracked completely, and old, bitter envy gushed out.

  "Orders? I protected my flock! Paula... always Paula! With her strange ideas, her fascination for vile things! I built that city from nothing, Orsini! I placed every stone of the first monastery with my own hands! And she... she arrived later and sat on the throne I laid the foundation for, to play with her books and her gems like a privileged child!"

  He spat the words, his face deformed by resentment. Before Mateus could respond, a squire entered the study, pale, and handed a new scroll into the Legate's hands. It was another messenger from Paula.

  Mateus read in silence, and a bitter, incredulous smile touched his lips. He raised his eyes to Henry, whose breathing was now ragged.

  "It seems the 'privileged child' hasn't stopped playing," Mateus said, his voice laden with a near-historical weight. "She no longer sends just the cure, Henry. She sends the explanation. She speaks of a 'microscope.' Of 'microbes,' infinitesimal creatures, smaller than a grain of sand, which would be the true agents of the disease. And how to avoid them."

  He threw the new letter onto the table between them.

  "You two lived in the same place, under the same roof. You raised the walls, it's true. But it was she, Henry, who looked inside the stones and discovered how to use the gem of alteration. It was she who tamed the cowpox to save men. And now... it is she who unravels the invisible world around us. You were in the same position as her and did none of this."

  Henry grew even angrier, his knuckles white from gripping the edge of the table so hard.

  That heretic should have been burned long ago! I finally got a position as Pope in a decent city, like this one in Iberia, and I still have to listen to sermons like this!

  Dom Mateus waited no longer. He turned to leave, but already at the door, he added:

  "I will write to the Supreme Pontiff, reporting everything that has occurred. And you... how about you start applying the vaccine? Your inaction and cheap pride are staining the name of the Church."

  He began to leave but stopped suddenly. Without turning, he added:

  "Ah, and one more thing... The Popess has made a most unusual request. She wants raw iron ore, among other things. According to her, she will transform it into steel and... who knows... gold. Normally, if someone spouted such nonsense, they would have been declared insane. But, given the miracles she has already performed... Well, I think you can now fulfill her request. As a representative of the Supreme Pontiff, I can act as a diplomat and negotiate permission with Portugal. I bet they will accept easily—after all, they owe us rivers of gold for the cures we provided in their wars with Spain."

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  And he left, leaving the Pope alone with the ghost of his hatred, the ashes of his betrayal, and the luminous—and threatening—future that stubbornly arrived via another letter.

  How did she manage to make so many discoveries in that godforsaken place? the thought echoed acidly in Henry's mind. I'm putting my best men to study the gem of alteration, and even they can barely use it... and she, in that forgotten place... Wait... she was in charge of artifacts considered impure... she must have been corrupted! That has to be it! She made a pact with the devil! And now she's dragging the entire Church into heresy!

  Seized by a sudden urgency, Henry grabbed a scroll, dipped the quill in the inkwell, and began writing a letter addressed to Supreme Pontiff Gregory XXI.

  This Orsini is already completely corrupted by the demon! But I can still trust the Supreme Pontiff... He will hear my plea and send someone to supervise that profane pope…

  Outside, Dom Mateus walked the streets of Nova Lusitania with a lighter step. The afternoon sun gilded the building facades, and the air, though still heavy with the city's smell, seemed lighter after the confrontation. His fingers drummed lightly against the side of his cassock as he mentally revisited the contents of Popess Paula's letters.

  That woman is truly extraordinary, he reflected, a nearly imperceptible smile on his lips. And, to be honest, the speed at which she's acquiring all this knowledge is… suspicious. Too fast to be merely divine inspiration.

  His smile became more calculating, more intimate, as he adjusted his collar.

  But what does the origin matter, when the fruits are so sweet? he continued his internal monologue, his eyes lost in the movement of the clouds. If she can indeed produce steel on a large scale… well, that changes everything. Generally, magical gems respond to steel like no other metal; only a few gems have a better connection with specific metals, like the healing gem has with silver. But overall, with steel, the reaction is more intense, more violent… more powerful.

  A spark of ambition ignited in his eyes. He could almost hear the sound of improved swords clashing, the clinking of gold filling coffers, the whisper of deals in the corridors of power.

  More destructive weapons… shorter wars… or longer and more profitable ones. More victims, yes, but also more donations to the Church… more indulgences sold… more influence. And, of course… —his fingers formed a light fist— “…more wealth channeled into the right projects. Into my projects.”

  He took a deep breath, tasting the future—metallic, like steel, and sweet, like gold.

  Yes, Popess Paula may very well be the key to a new world.

  ***

  Meanwhile, in the mocambo, Carlos was making his daily rounds, inspecting the progress of his projects. He was walking towards Nia's workshop when the door suddenly opened. She appeared before him, her face dirty with grime and sweat, but with a brilliance in her eyes he had never seen before.

  "Carlos, I did it!" she exclaimed, breathless. "It works! It's… it's an extraordinary machine!"

  Carlos couldn't contain his smile. He followed her inside, eager to see the invention that, would change the world.

  And then he saw it.

  The machine rose in the center of the workshop like an altar dedicated to a new industrial deity. Its appearance was mechanical and raw. The iron surfaces weren't rough, but smooth and fluid, as if they had been poured while liquid and frozen in mid-air. The junctions were almost imperceptible—welded not by heat, but by Nia's direct will, resulting in seams as smooth as veins on a leaf. The details in polished steel and jacaranda wood created a beautiful, austere contrast between the darkness of the iron and the warm shine of the finishes.

  The machine was already in motion, using fire gems to heat the water, and the noise it made was deafening. But to Carlos's ears, it sounded like a symphony. The gleaming iron and steel seemed like the frame of a new era.

  "I can't believe you did it, Nia!" he said, his voice filled with admiration. "This… this will change the world!"

  Nia, with her silver eyes, smiled, exhausted and triumphant.

  "When I first saw the schematics, I didn't imagine this monstrosity could move on its own. But seeing it working… is something else. It truly has the power to change everything. But I imagine you'll want me to make about twenty more, right?"

  Carlos shook his head, his eyes still fixed on the machine.

  "Actually, I want you to start working on the Bessemer converter. Even without the raw ores, we can still produce steel in other ways. And with steel, we'll make more machines. You have no idea how much steel is consuming from our budget…"

  The silver glow in her eyes dimmed slightly.

  "Alright…" she said, taking a deep breath. "You know, I'd love to keep making these machines. The converter doesn't excite me as much, but just knowing it will help my work… it gives me motivation."

  "That reminds me, Nia," Carlos added, lowering his voice. "We'll build the converter in the industrial district. It's too big to transport from here."

  "Yes, Chief! You can count on me!"

  Nia immediately called her assistants and began organizing the transport of the steel to the location where the converter would be installed. Carlos stayed behind, watching the steam engine, his heart full of hope.

  This will change everything, he thought, marvelling. We can install it in so many industries… Soon, money won't be a problem, and everyone here in the mocambo will have a dignified life.